BDA
by KnockturnSeller
Summary: An anomaly in bomb damage during the London Blitz comes to the attention of Sergeant Rollins. When he looks for himself things get a bit odd.


BDA

Intro: An anomaly in bomb damage during the London Blitz comes to the attention of Sergeant Rollins. When he looks for himself things get a bit odd.

Head cannon goes of. A sign fluttering to the ground says: I Don't Own Harry Potter But I Do Play in the Forbidden Forest.

CHAPTER ONE: Bomb Damage Assessment

London, RAF Bomb Damage Assessment.

"Captain," the sergeant said, "this picture here is rather curious. Charing Cross Road, right there, see how two whole blocks were hit? Then look here."

His finger pointed to the aerial photograph. "Ten buildings, all badly hit, except for this one. Normally a bomb string runs horizontally and takes out buildings in line. We know this. But right here, building gone, building gone, then there's no damage at all.  
Do you find that odd, sir?"

"Well, Sergeant Rollins, what you are saying is the string took out this line of buildings but skipped this one then hit the rest on the block?" the Captain said. "My guess would be a UXB. I'll call the bomb squad to have a recce."

"Sir," Sergeant Rollins said, "I looked up the casualty reports for the day this happened and I wonder if you'd take a look. The rescue numbers here are higher than normal, the deaths are much lower than normal. When I found the rescue reports, the injuries list was about what one would expect but there was a strange number of survivors with no memory of what happened.

"Now I suppose in the greater picture that shouldn't be a worry but all the same, I get a funny feeling about it. Altogether, the reports seem a bit off. I was wondering what you think. I have the reports if you would like to read them." Sergeant Rollins pulled out a folder and handed it over.

"Sergeant, you are diligent, I have to say that," the Captain said, "but we have all of London to look after. This is Assessment, it says so on the sign on the door. It's not Bomb speculation. However, you have a valid point. I'm just tired is all. I'll notify the UXB engineers but there is enough work day to day to keep BDA busy. Have you done the living space allocation for this strike?"

"Yes sir. Thirty to sixty percent, depending on the building," Rollins answered.  
"It's in with the other reports."

" When I get a chance I'll look it over. And I'll try to make time for the other reports you've included." He took the folder and set it on his desk.

Sergeant Rollins sighed. He'd done his job bringing an anomaly to the attention of his Captain. It was just odd when everything was added up, that's all there was to it.  
But he did have a few dozen more BDAs to get through today so he went back to the photo bench and spread out more photos of a London that was being blasted to the ground.

Three days later Sergeant Rollins found himself strolling along Charing Cross Road, looking at the wrecks and hulks of buildings from the ground. They all had damage, some ruined beyond repair and would have to be torn down, others from minor to uninhabitable. Except for the one he'd seen on the photos. This one only had superficial damage, pock marks and a few burn scars but the windows he could see were all intact. That made his brow furrow. For being so close to so many other buildings that had sustained catastrophic damages it seemed strange that one building was spared where others were hulks. The rain that had threatened all day started coming down and it was time for shelter. There was one cafe open so he went inside for a tea.

"Morning Sergeant," the proprietor said. "What can I do for you today?"

"Tea and a biscuit," he answered. He was the only customer.

"Always happy to serve the RAF here. Don't see too many uniforms in this neighborhood. Not enough pubs or girls, I'd guess," the man said.

"Just here looking around," Rollins said. "How'd you do with the last bombing?"

"Oh well, you see, it's always hard, what with the jerries coming over every night," the man said. "We took quite a few the other night, that's a fact, but we'll get by as we must."

Rollins took his tea. "Unusual, isn't it? I see several buildings got hit, but that one there," he pointed across the street, "seems to have been spared."

The man gazed at him a moment. "Well, it's like they say. Sometimes you have good luck, sometimes bad. No telling how or why some get by without a scratch and others get hit pretty bad. No fault of their's, just the way the dice fall sometimes. We'll get by. Down below Charing Cross Station it's a regular card party on raid nights. We all know each other by now, spending so much time crammed in like sardines and all and we get along as best we can. Not lost a single person down there, we haven't. Why just last month a soldier was visiting, got right down on his knee and proposed to Laurie O'Donnell. During a raid if you can believe it. Had a right good party for them."

Rollins grinned with the humor of the situation. "Yes, it's a hard life these days.  
That building there," and he pointed again, "I mean so many buildings around it and it's not harmed at all. It's odd, don't you think? How do you think that happened?"  
"Nothing to say, really," the man said. "It's just luck is all. I don't worry my head about it. Got enough trouble keeping enough tea in supply. And biscuits. I tell you,  
supplies are getting short and it'll be getting worse the longer this Blitz goes on. Maybe they think they done enough here and they'll leave us alone from now on. I'd like to have a nice, quiet life, make tea for the folks that live and work around here, keep the biscuits on the tables and make them a substantial soup for their lunch to keep their spirits up. That's good enough for me. No use worrying about things I can't do anything about."  
"I was raised in a small town near Blackpool so London under the Blitz was an eye-opener for me," Rollins said. "You ever think about leaving?"

"Not me," the man said. "Lived here my whole life and no cabbage crate's going to force me out, no sir. I'm staying right here. My two boys joined up and are billeted down on the coast. Beth, my lovely wife, she commands a company in the Home Guard down Swansea way. Mostly air raid and first aid training. If they can face up to an invasion by sea I can stay here so's they always have a home. Nope, not leaving."

Rollins nodded his head. "You've thought it through, I see. Still, one building survives when the rest don't. I can't help but feel curious about it."

"You been in the Bitz long enough you see a lot of strange things," the man said.  
"No need to explain everything you see happen. Just be thankful for what you have, do your duty and keep your head down. That's how I see it."

"Makes sense I suppose," Rollins said. The man held no special feeling about that one building or had nothing to say about it.

"I better get back to the soup kettle. Lunch is at noon if you're still around," the man said. "Help yourself to more tea. I'll be just a shout away."

Rollins sipped his tea and nibbled the biscuit. It was sweet but not near as sweet as it should be. Shortages were becoming a daily thing these days. He watched out the window, saw groups of men walk on by, a squad of air raid wardens was working over the debris of a ruined building, no children as so many had been fostered out of town.  
Another day in London, likely another night of bombings with another day staring at BDA photos.

One older man dressed neatly but in quite old fashioned clothes came up the street, stopped and glanced around then slipped inside a door. Rollins looked but couldn't see the door. Must have missed it. When he finished the biscuit he put his cup and plate on the counter with a few coins and left. By now the rain had turned to a falling mist, damp but not terribly wetting as he sauntered along the street. The place where the old man had gone, now that was a mystery.

There was no door. Rollins stopped, looked back at the cafe and knew he was where he'd seen the man disappear, looked again but found no door. But he'd seen the man go through, right here, right in front of where he was standing. His hand felt around but it was just smooth wood fascia like the rest of the building's front. Nothing special,  
nothing out of the ordinary. There was a sign hanging overhead but nothing was on it to say what business was there. Shaking his head he walked down the street a few blocks, wandered around a book store for a bit then bought a newspaper, walked for half a mile or so then crossed back over the street and headed towards the cafe for lunch.

At the cafe he sat with another cup of tea, gazing across the street at that one building. For a while nothing happened but then he saw it again. This time an older couple walked along the sidewalk, stopped in front of the building and went through the door that he knew simply wasn't there. A man walking close didn't seem to notice or didn't care as he kept on walking like nothing untoward had happened at all. Rollins was starting to wonder if he'd been staring at too many photos or had taken a dive in too shallow a pool. Seeing things wasn't a good sign. Without proof that anything strange was going on he'd likely find himself shuffled off to some safe base far from civilized people. He'd be just another soldier that cracked under the strain.

"Still here, I see," the man said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Soup is ready if you'd like some."

"Thanks, I'd like that," Rollins said. "I'm sure I'll appreciate something not made by Army cooks. It's hearty and filling but they cook the flavors right out of it. I look forward to enjoying your soup very much."

The man beamed and headed to the kitchen, coming back moments later with a large bowl and two good sized slices of bread. When it was set in front of him the aroma hit his nose.

"That smells amazing," Rollins said. He took a deep sniff of the wafting steam then looked at the bread. "Oh my, marmalade. Orange marmalade. Always my favorite.  
But you seemed to have put quite a lot on. I wouldn't want to be given special treatment that may have your regulars getting shorted."

"Nonsense, Sergeant," the man said, sitting down. "I always stash a little extra for certain times. A soldier in uniform, a pretty girl, children when we are lucky enough to see them around here. I think I miss the little ones more than anything else, my own and especially Beth. Permit me an indulgence in your case. Besides, the regulars seem to be running late today."

"My thanks again," Rollins responded, taking a sip of the soup. "Oh, this is heavenly. I can taste all the vegetables and the meat too. Barley for thickening? And the spices. Tarragon? Parsley, garlic and I think it's bay leaf in the background."

The man beamed again. "A soup devotee. Most people are too busy to notice the details. I'm glad to hear you approve."

"Absolutely," Rollins said. "Mum ran a seasonal cafe with my aunt in the summer near home. She had me and my older sister to help and it's where I learned about good soup. They taught me everything about how to make a simple soup into a meal. As soon as the lunch dishes were clean we were free to play all afternoon. Ah, it was good times. I wonder if we'll ever have good times like that again."

"Of course we shall," the man said. "We've had wars before, alas we'll like as not have wars again. This too shall pass, as we are taught. You must keep those good memories for your children so they can experience them as you did."

Rollins sighed deeply. "If ever this madness gets over."

"It shall, one day, you'll see," the man said.

"We can always hope," Rollins said. "Say, I asked before about that building across the street," nodding toward it.

"Nothing to see far as I'm concerned."

"Well, this might sound funny but I saw an old man and a couple walk through a door in the front there," Rollins said. "When I walked past there was no door. It was just a blank wall. It's my job to notice the small things, the odd occurrences. I have to say I've seen quite a few odd things about that building; taken together they don't seem to add up, if you understand me."  
"I don't know about your job," the man said, giving a searching look, "but there's nothing odd that I see. It's only a building that got lucky. You see that everywhere these days."

"But not all in one place," Rollins persisted. "It's gotten me curious."

The man gave a long sigh then said, "Well son, I suppose we should go have a look see. Just to show you."

"I've already looked. I'm looking now," Rollins said.

"Then to satisfy your curiosity," the man said, getting up and slipping his apron off, "let's you and me go have a gander for ourselves, shall we? The lunch crowd seems late today so I have a bit."

He put a sign in the window saying he'd back in a few minutes and to serve your own tea. Rollins chuckled at the last bit and strode across the street.

"Right in front of the door that isn't, I believe," the man said, gesturing at the blank wall.

"It was here the man went through," Rollins said. "I know what I saw."

"And so you did," the man said, "but there's nothing here."

"Something is here," Rollins asserted strongly. "I don't know what or why but something is here."

The cafe owner gave another long sigh. "You're just not going to give up on this,  
are you?"

"I saw what I saw," Rollins said strongly. "It is my duty to report what I see to my officer."

A quiet grumble and the owner shook his head. "Well, I suppose talking you out of this is a waste of time. Let's go in that door of yours."

Rollins started when he felt a hand on his arm and a door appeared where one had no right to be. He knew it was and wasn't there, his eyes told him it was there and his touching fingers told him nothing had been there. But the door was open now and he was being invited in.

The moment he stepped in the buzz of conversation stopped. His senses were assaulted by the age of the place, the heavy wooden trestle tables, sturdy chairs, low beams of carven oak. Then he saw the silent people staring at him and his eyes went wide. It was like he was back fifty years or more. Old top hats and squashers, trousers that hadn't been seen in London for generations, jackets, cravats, fingerless gloves. No one wore anything like that anymore. No one had worn anything like it for decades. It was so Victorian.

The man at the bar called out, "Thaddeus. Who's yer guest? But I spoze you know what yer adoing."

"Ah, Darren, had to you know." Thaddeus said. "This fine lad wouldn't be turned away no matter what I said. Thought I'd show him The Leaky Cauldron and satisfy his curiosity."

"Well, sit on down. Tea? Firewhiskey? Ale?" Darren asked. "Aye, a good oak matured mead if yer'd like."

Thaddeus turned to the wide eyed young soldier. "What would you like? You are off duty, right?"

"Uh, yes, off duty," Rollins muttered, looking around.

He led him to a table and sat him down. The buzz of conversation started up again to provide a true pub like background. Two small glasses of ale were set on the table.

"Now, Sergeant," he said. "You were right about this being a special place. A bit of a sanctuary, you might say. We are most private about our business, quite a bit separate from the rest of London. Not many people know about us and it's better for everyone to keep it that way. I'd rather not have to explain all the details, just know a few very important people are aware of our community and we have mutually agreed to respect each other's bounds."

Rollins stared at all the people talking and the pub itself. It wasn't that odd, just that it was completely out of place in every way he could think. Then he saw a young man come out with a rag to wipe at a nearby table, pick up a bottle and surround it with the cloth then went right to wiping the table. No bottle was to be seen. The glasses he made into a wobbly stack, pointed a stick at them and they hustled away to somewhere behind the bar as he finished cleaning up the table.

On the wall was a chalkboard with the menu, half the dishes he knew, the other half were a mystery the way items were mixed and matched. All of the selections had prices but not in schillings or pounds. What the heck was a sickle or a knut anyway?

"Sergeant. Sergeant!" he heard and turned.

"Yes?" he said, looking back around.

"This is a place best forgotten. Only His Royal Highness, The Prime Minister and very few others know of its existence and, quite frankly, none of them know exactly where this place is," Thaddeus told him. "Right now, you have more information than the King himself. Have a drink. It's a very good ale."

Rollins sipped and smacked his lips at the full, robust yet subdued flavor of the drink. "This is quite good indeed. Where do you get it?"

"Brew it ourselves," Thaddeus said. "We do most everything for ourselves. It's better that way. Some of our young men and women are in uniform, this is our country too you must realize, but they needs behave like your people. They do their duty but within boundaries. I was truthful about my sons and wife. I worry about them and miss them every minute of every day. I can only hope this war will truly be the one to end all wars. As terrible as it is and as terrible as it is going to be we all must do our duty as subjects of the Crown must."  
Rollins took a deep pull on his ale and said, "You haven't said what is special about ... about your people."

Thaddeus smiled warmly and pulled his wand out. "We are a small community.  
We don't interfere and we try to keep those that insist on interfering from making too much a mess of things. It's difficult to explain much more than that. Just believe we have our interests, you have yours and we all live together as best we can."

He pointed his wand at Rollins. He thought carefully of the words so when he was done, his wand would have made precisely seven anticlockwise turns. "You found a rather nice pub with a wonderful ale. The people you met were kind and gentle folk you liked. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the building you saw,(three turns) just a old place hidden away on a small avenue that was pleasant to find though you can't remember exactly where it was after the ale. (Four turns) You had a fine day talking with people and it was quite relaxing. This is what you'll remember. (Five turns)  
Nothing memorable, nothing special, just a pleasant day and a good drink. (Six turns)  
There's nothing else to remember. Nothing else to remember at all." (Seven turns)

"Pleasant day. Good ale. Relaxing," Rollins repeated.

"Now drink up and we'll go have some lunch."

Rollins found himself sitting in the cafe with a bowl of very good soup, two slices of bread well coated in orange marmalade as a treat to 'our young man in uniform' and a steaming cup of tea, strong and milky, just how he liked it. The cafe owner stopped by and asked him, "How is the soup?"

"The best I've had in a long time," Rollins said. "Even my own mum couldn't do better."

"As fine a compliment a tater slicer like me can ever hear," the man said. "Your bill has already been paid by a local gentleman. He said to keep up the good fight with his compliments to the RAF."

"Where is he?" Rollins asked, glancing around. "I'd like to thank him."

"Already finished and back to his job," the man told him. "I have to say he is normally gregarious but he does have his private side so he must have wanted his anonymity."  
"Can't say better than that," Rollins said. "It's been a pleasure to meet you today.  
You make a fine soup and the bread was very tasty. Best I be getting back. I'm sure there's a pub or two I could manage to while away an hour or so before I return to the barracks."

"You take care of yourself, son," the man said. "If you ever happen to get down around Swansea look up the Home Guard there. My wife would be happy to meet you and there are a lot of bright lassies in her unit. You could do well if you can dance."

Rollins chuckled. "I manage to keep my left foot from tripping my right.."

Rollins held out his hand. "It's been a real pleasure. I don't think I've felt this relaxed without being blind drunk in a long time. Thanks for the wonderful lunch."

"And to you, son, for the conversation. Be thankful for what you have, do your duty and keep your head down."

Chapter Two: Swansea

"Sergeant Rollins," the captain called out.

Rollins left his photo bench to hustle to the captain's desk. He popped to and said, "Sir."

The captain rifled a few papers then held out three sheets. Rollins immediately recognized orders and his eyes widened just a bit. "Sergeant Rollins. Major Whitcomb at Group needs an instructor. You're the best we have here so you get the duty. It'll be anywhere from three to nine months, depending on how things go. Report to Swansea day after tomorrow, 0800 hours. I'll have finance cut you a pay chit and a ticket. Any encumbrances?"

Rollins said, "No sir." That usually meant pregnant girlfriends or fiances.  
Depending on circumstances.

"Good Sergeant," the captain said. "Take the afternoon off to pack up. There's a train leaving King's Cross at 1700. Best catch it in case of a raid tonight. Anything you need assistance with from me?"

"No sir," Rollins responded.

The captain looked up at him and nodded approval. "Your work here has been excellent. See you do the same down there. I hope Group can provide a good replacement, but frankly that will be difficult. You're as good with aerial assessment as I've ever seen. Good luck to you. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Rollins said and saluted. He took his paperwork back to his bench to read it over. Swansea. On the coast. More importantly away from the Blitz. But that wouldn't last long, only until target maps altered and new priorities came up. The other thing now on his mind was an invasion from France. He'd find himself on the front lines soon if the reports he'd been able to read came true. With that rolling through his head he picked up the very few personal items he had in the office and went to find Personnel. Train tickets and a pay chit. Don't leave home without them. He got a twitch of a smile at the Sergeant Major's joke from formation last week.

Swansea was cold, wet and dark when he arrived. Blackout was strictly enforced everywhere but those on the coast facing the enemy were particularly diligent. Lights were dim in the station with heavy curtains nailed to many of the windows, the rest were tightly covered. At his barracks he'd shown new recruits where the raid trenches were and how to maintain blackout so they wouldn't be needed and this place was top tier in preparedness. Now he was on the coast, in the morning he might be able to look across the Channel and see France. One day soon he might see an invasion fleet. How long was pure speculation. At least as long as London could hold out was what most said.

In London invasion was a worry. Here on the coast, though not near as heavily bombed, the threat seemed to be in the very air Rollins was breathing. He found the Army desk and shortly was billeted at the school (evacuated for the duration) being handed his blanket and sheets with admonitions from the supply sergeant to keep his space clean, no food and no women. With that he settled in bed. He had tomorrow to look around before it was back to work.

He reported on time after a breakfast of kippers with tea and a heavy bread with the merest hint of butter scraped thin on one surface. About the same as London, really,  
then he was directed to a classroom.

He was chatting with others in the class when an officer walked in, all of them instantly silent and standing at attention.

"Take seats," Major Whitcomb said. "Everything we teach and everything you learn here is highly classified. Know that we have agents in town looking for a bounty on chatty RAF personnel. If you are reported you may expect lockup until the war is over, or if you're lucky you'll be taking wind measurements at the North Pole or some equally dismal and very, very cold place. Do keep that in mind as you're quaffing a few pints and a sweet lass sidles up to you. You won't know who she's working for, us or the enemy. Either will ruin your day."

He gave a nod and the curtain behind him slid aside to reveal photos and maps.  
"These are training aids. New instructors will be staying for a refresher class, new students will report to your first class in geometry. So, students to your class, instructors remain. Stand up!"

The refresher class was actually pretty good was the thought Rollins had. All the basics in the first hour then analysis, reporting and structure for the defense of Britain.  
"You need to know these things that you may better perform your duties. A good mind can anticipate the next target. A good mind knows what must be done next to cripple the economy or war production. You are the best minds in the RAF. Your classes must instill intelligent interpretation backed up with solid proof. The country is depending on you. Dismissed for lunch."

Instantly the class was on its feet, the Major walking off the stage and out of the classroom. After lunch was another class in basics then on to new territory. He'd taught a few squads in drill and discipline but now he learned how to teach a room full of soldiers just as bright and dedicated as himself. It was an impressive demonstration of practiced theory he'd never thought of before.

"The following stay after class," the instructor said. His name came up with five others. "You were all rated as superior from your respective commands. You will teach classes but you shall also attend classes. As England is under the Blitz, so shall the enemy be soon. The skills used for defense are equally useful for offense. We are going to take the hurt to our enemy and the people in this room will be leading that effort.  
Instead of London, Manchester and all other cities that have bled it shall be Nazi factories, railroad yards, transportation and anywhere else their forces can be hindered or harassed. Losing this war cannot happen. The RAF won't let it happen. Rededicate your lives to this fight. That's all, gentlemen."

All came to attention, Major Whitcomb and his Sergeant Major left the room.  
There were a few conversations but not much. As far as Rollins was concerned, in the way of inspirational speeches it was pretty good.

The end of the week came. Instructors had barracks supervisory watches but it was for a day each and that spent in their room on call. That gave the rest time to roam.

Rollins walked to town. He liked the seaside and the beach, the wind, the smell of pure, fresh air without the stench of burned buildings. He sat sipping tea for a bit then wandered out onto the sands. Rolls of barb wire surrounded the beach area and there were tall fences closer to the port. Strolling too close was discouraged by dogs and Enfields. They'd been warned, unnecessary though it was, that being on the beach at night could be fatal. The tree line was heavily mined just to make a bad day for someone should they need it.

Up toward the fence line then back, Rollins walked easily and comfortably, glad of a chance to exercise his legs after so many classes. He looked across the water to see the smudge that was the French coastline, now occupied by soldiers that intended to cross the Channel soon. As he stood there a squad of twenty Home Guards were double timing up the sand with rifles at port arms, batons banging their hips and full ammo belts. They didn't look at him more than to note where he was and moved up the beach. Then he saw hair bouncing on their shoulders.

"Women in uniform with rifles. Must be drilling. Can they even shoot those things?" he said to himself. Of course, after Dunkirk the reality of their situation made it through everyone's head. No quarter, fight or die, surrender was the last option just before being overrun. It only made sense for the Home Guard to be militarized. They were defending themselves and their homes.

Fifteen minutes later he was close to the break in the barb wire that led to the road. The Home Guard was close on his heels so he stopped to let them by. They slowed, slung arms and marched through the soft sand with purpose and surprising speed; they didn't look all that winded. Pretty with sweaty faces, but not winded at all.  
They all marched past with several eyes looking him over and he got the impression it was predatory, not romantic. Like he looked at BDA photos. Assessment and threat analysis. These women were switched on about their duty.

There was a nice pub just off the beach that he knew had a pint waiting just for him. The tapman pulled him one and took his money.

"Say, I was wondering," Rollins said, "the Home Guard women I saw. Are they all armed? In London they were mostly old men too long in the tooth for the regular army."

The barman gave him a serious look. "Sergeant, they are not only armed but can out march half the men on the base. Give them trouble and they'll shoot you dead and keep on marching up the beach without a glance back. Give them the mickey and they'll be merciful. They'll only almost beat you to death."

"I see," Rollins said. "I rather like that idea. Tough, fit, pretty and armed. It's what we all need to be these days. But I'm a little surprised by it all. Not like in London."

The man leaned close. "A word of advice. Don't give them trouble. Had a couple soldiers in here last week start a fight. They were marching their patrol, six of them there was. They came in and told them to settle it or take it outside and not to disturb the peace. One of them mouthed off something about their womanly qualities and out came those batons. A heartbeat later those two soldiers were being frog marched out of here and none too gentle either. Never seen anything like it, didn't even see her swing but those soldiers were on the floor before they knew what hit them. Two grunts and they were done for the night."

He grinned and said, "Then the corporal turned to the rest of the soldiers and asked, 'Anyone else want to be a bother?' Her squad stood there with their batons at port arms looking hard. The rest of the pub stayed right civil after that. We all like having them around. Keeps the peace."

"Sound tough," Rollins said.

"There's a retired Royal Marines Sergeant Major assisting the officer in charge.  
Know why there ain't no sharks in the Channel? They know he's here and cleared off for fear he might step in the water and take them all on with his bare hands," the barman said. "I'm proud of them, I am. I'd go up against rifle fire before I'd give our Home Guard a reason to dislike me."

Rollins tried to smile but it was too serious, this conversation. "I'm glad they're on our side then."

"Off duty they're as sweet as kittens," the barman said and grinned. "Kittens with six inch fangs stowed in their back pockets."

"That's a picture I'll keep in my head while I'm here," Rollins said.

"If you want to get to know them be down the dance hall around seven tonight,"  
the barman told him. "They'll dance your feet off and not break a sweat. Enjoy your ale,  
Sergeant."

"I will do that," Rollins said and found a good window seat to watch the waves roll up the beach. This place was peaceful and pretty at first glance but, like the Home Guard, iron tough just under the surface. Like the soft sand beach surrounded by rolled barb wire and mines. This was going to be an interesting duty station.

That night at the appointed hour he was down at the dance hall sipping an ale. A couple dozen young women came in and conversation died in a heartbeat. The women looked around the room then broke out in smiles, heading for the bar. Men stumbled over themselves getting up to buy drinks. One of them ended up standing next to him as he sipped his ale.

"Come here often, soldier?" she asked with a wide grin.

"Not yet," he answered, grinning, "but I'm thinking of it."

"Not bad," she said, looked him over and held out her hand. "Mary Cromwell."

"Dick Rollins," he said. "You with the Home Guard?"

She gave him a hard look then an almost smile. "Just here to dance," she said.

"I'm sorry, Miss Cromwell," Rollins said. "I was on the beach earlier today and I don't think I could double time in the sand half as fast as what I saw. That platoon looked tough and capable. I was impressed."

Mary gave him a warm smile. "Some don't see it that way. Hurts their ego."

"I have an ego but I'm smart enough to chew gum while marching and get away with it," he told her.

Mary grinned at the joke and said, "I like honest humor in a man. Care to see if you're smart enough to not trip while chewing that gum?"

They danced until they were thirsty and sat sipping an ale each. Rollins said, "I like the beach. When we were kids my sister and I'd play in the sand all afternoon. Next thing you know we were out of school, Sissy got married and I was working until my apprenticeship was cut short by, uh, other matters. Haven't seen the beach for years so it's nice to be back by the sea again."

"And what brought you down here?" Mary asked.

"Paperwork," he answered and grinned thinking of the first day's warning. "At least I get to smell salt air again."

"I was never near the sea until I came here," Mary said. "Now I'm not so sure I like the beach. It's tough when you have to hustle your squad on the sand all day. But I have learned to like it here. We volunteer a lot and with so many men gone the town needs the extra help. Good folks. I might stay here. After."

"There's always after, isn't there?" Rollins said.

They danced some more, sat down to finish their glasses and stepped out again.  
One soldier came by to politely ask for a dance but Mary shook her head. "Sorry.  
Another night maybe."

"I'd like to be here another night," Rollins said. "You're an interesting person. If we get a chance I'd like to have a picnic on the beach on up in the hills. Get away from my desk and sit on grass. Then dance like there's no tomorrow."

"We might have time for one more, Dick," she said, "then it's curfew for us. And a hike with lunch sounds like a perfect way to forget duties for a day."

She reached into her purse for a few coins and a piece of paper. "Barracks number. Give a ringer if you have a weekend off. Now, we'd better hit the floor."

Chapter Three: Duties and Meetings

Classes went on all day, every day. Teach basics in the morning, supervise practice, after lunch attend more classes until dinner. He soon discovered all he knew wasn't a fraction of what he was going to need to know so he bent hard to the task.

Many weekends he had a watch or guard duty but went to town as often as he could to see Mary. Sometimes it was weeks when they couldn't arrange times but every day they were together was wonderful. He found Mary had become important to him,  
started having visions of settling down so on a Sunday picnic he got up the nerve to express himself.

"Mary, spending time with you is like I'm in a dream," he told her. "I don't know what your feelings are but I think we could make a life with each other."

He watched her expression and thought he saw happiness and conflict mixed in with a few other things.

"I've been thinking the same thing myself, now and then," she said. "But we have our duties and it looks like we'll have those duties for a long time. This war isn't going to end tomorrow or next week or even next year. Plus you haven't met any of my family. If you want to continue I think it might be best if you do."

"I'd be happy to meet them," Rollins said. "Are they in Swansea?"

She laughed. "Goof. If they lived down here you'd have met them long ago. I can talk to the captain about a forty eight hour pass, enough time to get to London. If this is what you want I'd like to introduce you to my Dad."

Rollins smiled. "It's what I want. I'll see what I can do."

It took another month, a cold and very wet month until he had his duties arranged and permission to travel with a two day pass. His captain had asked about his girlfriend and he told him he was going to London to meet her father. That settled things.

When they met in town again Mary said, "I'd like you to meet Captain Abbotson.  
She's deadly serious in uniform but sweet and motherly off duty. Half the time she'll be with us on beach patrols and can run the legs off a deer. She would like to meet the man I've been spending so much time with."

Rollins got a twinge up his spine at the thought but for Mary he'd swim the Channel even if it was filled with sharks. No, that Sergeant Major had chased them all off. Pity. Nice way to show how much she meant to him. Easier than meeting Mary's Commanding Officer.  
They met in the cafe, Mary looking radiant even in her heavy woolens to fight back the cold sea winds. Next to her was an older woman that reminded him of his own mum.

The two women stood, Mary taking his hand to lead him to the table. "Captain Abbotson, I'd like to introduce Sergeant Rollins, ma'am."

She held out her hand just as Rollins' nearly came up in a salute. But she was in civies like Mary so he took her hand and shook. It was firm, warm and pleasant.

When they were seated with tea she said, "I'm pleased to be able to meet you at last, Sergeant. Mary told me about you and her getting serious for each other. I'm always glad to see my people happy and content even if I'm driving them into the sand at the time. You have brightened her life."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

"We're off duty, son, and I like to relax while having tea with friends," she said. "If circumstances were different I'd have you call me Bethany, but we're in uniform no matter the outside dress."

"Yes ma'am, we are," Rollins answered.

"So you two want to go to London to meet Mary's father, is that correct?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. I'm looking forward to it."

"Glutton for punishment or the village idiot that doesn't know any better?"

Rollins stammered, looking for an answer. "Uh, neither, ma'am. I don't know him.  
I'm not afraid but I'll admit to being rather nervous about it."

She smiled. "Don't worry about Artie," she said with a smile. "I knew him in school and he's straight up. Good boy when I knew him and after having Mary in my company I'm sure he'll be fatherly but will leave the sharp instruments in the drawer.  
Just be yourself and you'll get along just fine."

"Thanks, I think," Rollins said.

She turned to Mary and said, "You want the pass for next weekend? Got a train that will get you there on time? Do you have a room?"

"Yes ma'am, next weekend works for us. It's an early train and return won't be a problem. If there isn't another terrible raid, at least. And I'll be staying with Dad. We're going to meet, uh, at his favorite London pub."

"That should be interesting for your young man here," she said with a grin that hid more than it showed.

"I do hope so," Mary said wistfully.

"Something I'm missing here?" Rollins asked.

"Just be yourself," the older woman said with a crooked grin. "I'm sure he'll approve. I wish you both as much happiness as can be had in these troubled times.  
Now, I should be getting back." She drained the last of her tea and rose.

Rollins came to attention and she grinned at him, let him handle her chair, shook his hand once again and left on her own business.

"She is a gracious lady," Rollins said.

"She is that," Mary agreed. "Off duty like a mother. In uniform as tough as nails. I consider myself quite lucky to have been placed in her company. She wanted to meet you and take your measure."

Rollins chuckled a bit and said, "Can't imagine my captain doing the same,  
really. A good bloke but coming to town to meet a man's girlfriend, I can't see him doing that."

CHAPTER FOUR: The Cauldron Again

The next weekend they were on the early train at dawn surrounded by other uniforms, chatting in their compartment like old friends as they sped into London. Even the silences were nice, just sitting and holding hands as the train rattled and blossoming trees whizzed by their window. Kings Cross wasn't nearly as crowded as expected,  
even for a weekend, as travel without purpose was being discouraged for fuel savings.  
Everything was being discouraged it seemed. Life without frivolity and little recreation was the norm now.

A short trip on the Tube and they were walking up what seemed like endless stairs to the underground entrance, coming up to a drizzly Spring sky and a chill wind.  
One where you wish you could maintain a grip on the umbrella you needed but couldn't.  
So they walked down the street hunched over and huddled together.

At the platform, Rollins had stared at the station name. There was something about it that seemed familiar besides name recognition. At the top of the stairs was the station name again and he knew there was something he should know about it. But he couldn't quite think why Charing Cross Station should ring up a memory as he didn't think he'd ever been there before.

"Where are we going?" Rollins asked.

"To see Dad. We're meeting in his favorite pub."

"What pub is that, sweetheart?" he asked.

Mary grinned back at him. "Patience. I want it to be a surprise. Nearly there."

Rollins saw the cafe. That flashed up images, the proprietor, the soup,  
something more about good ale and a relaxing atmosphere, if anywhere suffering through the Blitz was ever relaxing.

"Mary, let's go over there," and he pointed. "I've been there before, I think.  
Maybe when I was billeted here. The owner made very good soup if I remember."

Mary looked at him a moment and said, "We are a few minutes early. Okay, let's go."

They walked in to see most of the tables full, the owner bustling about. He turned and stopped, not moving a muscle as his eyes took them in then smiled. "Mary Cromwell. Just look at you. Haven't seen you for years. Your Dad was here earlier but he's, uh, across the street. And your young man. Sergeant ..."

"Rollins, sir. I remember your soup," Rollins said.

"At least you have memory for food," he said and gave a quizzical look. "Mary,  
you must be meeting your Dad. And by the look of this fine representative of the RAF I assume you're meeting with a purpose?"

Mary blushed slightly and nodded.

"And you're taking him across the street?"

"Yes, Thad. I'm taking him across the street," Mary said quietly but firmly.

"I must suppose you know best, then," he said. "Good luck to you Sergeant."  
With that he turned to attend to his customers.

As they left Rollins said, "That seemed a bit odd, like he was worried or something. There isn't a problem I don't know about, is there? Captain Abbotson said your father would keep his sharp instruments in the drawer."

Mary stopped him. "Meeting Dad is important to both of us. It's where we are going to meet that's likely to, well, I was going to say be a problem. Just don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll be fine. Come along, then."

Across the street Rollins frowned. "Sweetheart, I think I've been here before too.  
Something about ... about a door I think. I don't see a pub close which means I don't know where we are going. You seem a bit nervous still. Is everything alright?"

Mary tried to smile encouragement but failed. "Dick, promise me you'll keep a level head. Don't worry about anything, just keep a level head."

"Of course I will," Rollins answered.

Mary took his hand and stepped forward. Rollins saw the plain wall then took a step back as a door handle faded into view followed by the rest of the door. "I know this place," he said.

"Come inside. Quickly, before we make a scene," Mary said and pulled his hand.

Just like the memory there was conversation around them, smells of food and ale, old fashioned clothes. Then conversation died with many eyes turned to stare at him. All of it seemed familiar, fuzzy for sure but he was remembering this place. Old,  
oak beams, people staring at his uniform as if he had antlers or a bushy tail.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he said.

Mary turned to him. "What did you say?"

"This is the Leaky Cauldron. I've been here before, I'm sure of it now. The barman is called Darren. Something about money too but I can't quite get hold of it," he said.

"You promised to keep a level head," Mary said. "I see Dad. Ready to face your doom?"

At a table nearby a man stood up, Mary folded herself into his arms, grinning and hugging tightly. When they separated she took Rollins' hand and said, "Daddy, I'd like you to meet Dick Rollins. Dick, my father."

They shook hands and her father looked him over. "You seem a nice young man,  
Sergeant Rollins.'

"Name is Dick, sir," he responded.

"Dick. I'm Artemus Cromwell," he said. "Just call me Art."

"Yes sir. Thank you."

"Now, let's have a sit and you can tell me about yourself," he said.

The barman came over. "What can I get you folks."

Rollins looked up and said, "Tea first. What's good for lunch today, Darren?"

His eyes widened. "Why, bless my soul," Darren said. "Didn't expect you to remember me. You must have a sharp mind to overcome ..."

"Yes?" Rollins said.

"Nothing important," Darren said. "Now, for lunch today ..." and they ordered.

"What is it you do for the RAF, Dick," Art asked.

"Well, sir, generally I don't talk about my job," he said. "A lot of paperwork, teach some classes, guard duty and all that. Nothing terribly special."

"I see," Art said. "Everyone's so hush hush these days. I suppose it's all for the best. Mostly I was wondering how dangerous your job is. You're not on one of those flying machines are you?"

"Oh, no sir," Rollins said quickly. "That's about as dangerous a duty one can volunteer for. Mostly I analyze and assess things then report my findings to my officers.  
Now I teach classes so others can learn to do the same thing. It's mostly paperwork,  
like I said. Not dangerous in any real sense, at least no more than anyone else faces."

"And if this Hitler fellow comes over here?" he asked.

"Like Mr. Churchill says, sir. We'll fight on the beaches, fight in the streets. It worries me a bit, how this war is going right now, but I have faith in the King and Mr.  
Churchill. I worry about it like everyone does. I have my duties to make my small contribution to the effort. It's what we all must do these days."

"And afterwards?" he asked. "What will you be doing when your time is up? What kind of job do you expect to pursue?"

Rollins was quiet for a moment. "It's been awhile since I thought about that. After school I worked in a boatyard, helping build and maintain boats. I think I'd like to go back to that. Blackpool is habitually busy and growing fast. There's always work there."

"Maybe you should think of owning the boatyard," Art said. "Better future in it."

"Well, I haven't thought that far ahead, really," Rollins said. "I'm good with boats and I like working on them. Can't say I like to be out on them all that much to tell the truth. Went fishing a few times and that's about as hard a job as there is. I gained a lot of respect for those that choose it as a way of life."

"Do you think there's a future in building boats?"

"Very much, sir," Rollins said. "There's always work available as long as people want kippers for breakfast and cod for dinner. Boats take a beating every day so someone has to be able to fix them. The fishing fleet depends on the yards to keep afloat and employed. In turn we depend on the fishermen for our dinner. I've always seen it as a circular relationship between fishermen, maintainers, suppliers and customers."

Art looked him over carefully. "You have definite thoughts on the matter. That's good. It's encouraging to hear you talk about it." He turned and Darren was there.

"And here's lunch," the man said.

"If you'll forgive me sir, what is it you do?" Rollins asked as they started on their stew.

"I was in the MLE office for a good time but now I speak for people that get in trouble and must face judgement," he said. "Not quite what you'd call a lawyer but with our people it's nearly the same thing."

"I'm not quite clear on that," Rollins said.

"I was an Auror for ten years, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he answered calmly. "I spent quite a lot of time working for the Wizengamot and now I represent people in our court system."

"Auror. Magical Law enforcement?" Rollins asked.

"Yes. Thaddeus said you had been here once before," Art said. "In order to keep our two peoples' peace we usually modify the memories of Muggles that stumble upon us or are otherwise affected by magic. Quick witted, strong minded folks sometimes persist and figure things out so one of my jobs was to ensure they didn't remember anything that might disturb their view of the world. It's best that way. Also, enforcing our laws, we have crime too. Figuring out who did what to whom then arresting them for judgement."

Rollins studied the man for a bit. "If I might present an assessment of what I just heard, you talked of magic and Muggles and modifying their memories. In fact, some of my memories if I got the hint right. That implies, begging your pardon sir, but it sounds like you're saying you are a wizard. Apparently I stumbled on something to do with magic and my memories were muddied up to forget about it. Is all that correct?"

Art smiled broadly. "Beth said you were a sharp young man, Dick. Yes, that sums things up rather well. The next consideration is if you choose to continue seeing Mary it's something you must keep in mind. Also, discretion on your part. I can imagine you already understand that if it becomes a problem my colleagues may visit and your memory of all this will become like a fuzzy dream. Not a threat as we don't cause distress of any kind, but only as a solution to prevent further problems. Are you clear on the subject? Our privacy and security is quite important."

Rollins didn't say a word, then Mary snuck her hand into his. "Sweetheart, it's okay. Feel free to say whatever is on your mind. Dad may sound gruff sometimes but he's a wonderful person."

"Okay then," and he turned to Art. "Sir, I'd like your permission to court your daughter, knowing full well the risk involved and accepting all you have said. I love her now and I think she's the perfect woman for me. I can only hope I am acceptable to her and to you."

That brought smiles from both father and daughter. Art said, "So you've figured out the needs that come with continuing to see my daughter and have full confidence you can handle anything that might come of being between the magical and Muggle worlds?"

Rollins swallowed once then said, "Well sir, I can't understand yet what it all means but whatever it takes, Mary is worth that and so much more."

Art gave a thoughtful look then smiled. "I accept and heartily approve of your courting proposal. I mean, you haven't proposed or anything yet, have you?"

Rollins turned to Mary. "I haven't yet but after meeting your father my thinking is clarified some. I would right this moment if you want me to."

Mary gave him a soft kiss. "I think you would, but let's wait for a better time."

"Sweetheart," Rollins said, "we both know it could be a long while before there's a better time. You're in the Home Guard. You know what could happen to us, to us all.  
No matter what time we have I'd like to spend it with you. I could put in the paperwork with my officer Monday morning, if you think that's a good idea."

"I know this isn't a good time," she said, "and I expect it's going to get far worse before it gets better. I'd like some time to get used to the idea and spend more time with you. I hardly know you and you just learned my father is a wizard. You do know I'm a witch then, right?"

"Right down to the cute wart on your long nose, dear," Rollins said with a grin.

Mary mock hit his shoulder. "Be serious here. I am a witch and I'll always be a witch. Our children almost certainly will be too. Try to imagine the difficulties that could mean for you. The secrecy, not being able to talk about it, having your child turn the dog green because it's a pretty color. You don't know anything yet."

Looking straight into Mary's eyes he said, "Those are details. I know who you are and think we could make it together. Other problems we'll solve as they come along. I'm not concerned about dealing with problems because I'd be with you. There's always something coming up between people but we can make it work. I truly believe that."

Mary reached into her purse and pulled out her wand. A quick twirl of the tip and his tea cup became a flower in a vase. She looked at her father with intent. He pulled his wand from his sleeve, turning his handkerchief into a chickadee that chirped and flew around their heads before settling on the table to inspect the bread crumbs it found.

"What my daughter is trying to get across is you must have complete understanding of what this means to you. And to her. There are wizards that think Muggles should be enslaved, there's been an ongoing struggle against his movement.  
Your war isn't the only one going on." Art sat, quietly twirling his wand about as he looked at Rollins.

He gazed back cooly. "I've already said what I feel in my heart. I stand by my words."

"Very well, my boy. Let's finish this stew and have a glass of mead to celebrate."

When they had finished their mead Art said, "I have a few bits and bobs I need to pick up. Mary, do you think you and Dick would like to come along? It may be educational for him and I'd like to spend time with you away from a father judging his daughter's choice in a young man. Just a short while, really, and we can get caught up with each other's lives."

Mary's eyes went wide for a moment. "Having Dick with us won't be a problem?"

"Oh, I'm sure there will be a few stares but I don't see a problem," he said.

She turned and said, "Dick, dear, are you ready to have your eyes opened even if it means people will be staring at you the whole time? It's not every day people in Diagon Alley set eyes on so handsome a man.'

Dick laughed. "You mean someone different, don't you. I'll try to behave. Where's Diagon alley?"

Mary giggled a little and held his hand. "It's just out back. You should find it interesting."

It was out the back door to face a brick wall and Dick gazed at it as Mary's father casually strolled up, touched a few bricks with his wand and they folded away to reveal an entirely new world.

"Oh my," Rollins gasped out. Before him was not at all an alley all cramped with dark entrances to tiny shops like he expected. No, it was long, not terribly wide but the scene was beyond what he could ever have imagined. There were many shops but as they walked by them he saw things for sale he'd never imagined, never could have imagined. He was awestruck by the variety and the strangeness of it all. And the people shopping, like in the bar most were dressed in ancient fashions, younger folk more modern, but seeming not to notice as they gazed into shop windows. Automatically his mind shifted into analysis mode.

"This place is amazing," he told Mary. "A few years ago I would have just seen shops and people, now I find myself estimating how many people this area must support, how many flats or houses the population would need, transportation for goods and people. And critical bomb points. How many of your kind of folk are in England?"

Mary laughed. "We can't leave our training or duty, can we? I was thinking how many Home Guard it would take to adequately patrol the area and the best defensive points to station them, civil and military defense. But to answer your question, many thousands. We have our own government, the Ministry, our own shopping areas,  
transportation is different but everything else along those lines you are probably estimating in your head right now."

"Sorry. Habit I can't break," Rollins said.

"I don't mind, dear," she said. "There aren't as many people here like there was last year. I suppose it's the war effort affecting us. So many of our young people have signed up plus the general level of ... fear I suppose. It's keeping people home. Can't blame them, actually."

"Much like Piccadilly Circus compared to a few years ago," Rollins said.

"Oh look, Fortescue's is still open," Mary said and pulled his hand.

When they found a table Mary's father handed them small dishes of ice cream.  
"You'll like it," he told Rollins. "Rumor is he charms the cream for the perfect flavor and texture. Maybe even the cows."

Rollins took a small bite and his eyes went wide. "This is delicious! Oh yes, this is fantastic. I've never tasted ice cream so good. Worth the whole trip just for this."

Art grinned. "It's the best in the world, at least as much of the world as I've traveled."

"Dad, you've been everywhere," Mary said.

"Haven't been to Russia," he said, "but pretty much all the wizarding communities. Fortescue's is still the best I've ever found or ever expect to find."

"There's other places with, uh, your people?" Rollins asked.

"Might soon be yours too, Dick," he said. "To answer your question, yes, there are. It approximates out to around one per 10,000 muggle population. I am worried what this war will do. It's shaping up to be larger by far than the last one. That was mainly in France and the low countries but the best guess is this one will have battlefields half around the world. That affects us as much as your people. After seeing what is happening to London and guessing the destruction as England ramps up war industries to match and goes on the offensive we could see many, many cities razed and their populations decimated. Maybe two in ten survival rate. Some say that's too pessimistic and I lean in that direction but the casualties are going to be horrendous."

"For a bit I thought this war wouldn't affect you as much as us," Rollins said.  
"Seeing Charing Cross Road then seeing Diagon Alley, destruction versus safety, well,  
it gets a bit tricky thinking about it."

Art looked intensely at Rollins and said, "We have had to protect ourselves. We can't allow bombs to drop here. A few wizards risk their lives by staying outside and vanishing bombs heading this way. We cannot do the same for all London or their wizards would get involved and the destruction would be terrible. We can't fight your war in that way. That is what you were thinking, right?"

"Sorry, sir, but yes I was." Rollins was quiet as he worked the problem in his head like a BDA assessment then nodded his head. "Yes, I think I understand that."

Art smiled wanly. "Beth said you were quick. This is one truth you must accept no matter the cost to you or to us. You think you are helpless in a bombing, try to imagine us, knowing we could stop an attack to only bring total destruction down on us and our neighbors if we interfered. But let's not dwell on this subject. It eats at my heart when I see London being ruined and can do nothing to stop it happening."

He stopped and looked at his daughter and future son-in-law. "Sorry. It's on my mind so. This trip is for you and Mary. This tired old man should keep his mouth closed sometimes."

Mary got up to give her father a hug. "It's alright, Dad. We do understand, we really do."

There was a trace of water in his eyes as he looked up to his daughter and nodded his head. "Thank you, my dear girl. I'll never tire of your loving hugs."

"I'll never tire of giving them or getting them," Mary said.

"I think your sergeant Rollins is a very lucky man," He said.

Mary pinked a little and said, "He doesn't know how lucky, not yet."

"I think you two have a grand future together," he told his daughter. "Both of you are sharp as tacks, you can talk about heart with me and that's no easy task, both volunteered for duty not knowing what it truly meant but I believe you have come to understand that duty now. From your words you know how dangerous that duty may be yet you accept it and aren't backing away from it. I have a lot of respect for what you are doing. Further I have a lot of respect for the both of you. Just promise to keep your head down."

"If I can, Dad," Mary said. "If I can't I'll think first, act fast then duck."

A fatherly tear formed in his eye. "I do worry so much for you, Mary. It's a dangerous path you have chosen. I respect your choice and you're a woman now but I can't help but see my little girl in pigtails and a muddy dress."

Mary smiled warmly. "Thanks dad. I'll be as careful as I can and as tough as I need to be."

"And if you have this fine young man by your side, I'll be happy for you," he said.  
"Now, we've talked about you two, we've shown him what he's looking at and he seems to think you are worth holding on to. I think you have a future together if that is what you choose for yourselves."

He turned to Rollins. "Young man, if this is your choice I think you are choosing wisely and choosing with your head as well as you heart. I wish you good fortune in your future. I'd like to sit and talk for a day or two but there are tasks for me to accomplish and I must leave."

Art hugged his daughter tightly and gazed into her eyes for a bit. He turned to shake Rollins' hand then pulled him into a tight hug. Up close and personal he said, "Take good care of her, my boy and keep your head down."

Mary's father strolled past the shops toward a large, white marble building while Mary and her beau headed back toward the brick wall. Each shop window held Rollins in fascination as he gazed at the odd goods and strange items for sale. "Mary, what's that?" he asked as he stared at a broom mounted for display.

"Brooms, of course," she said. "A Comet and a Cleansweep. Every year there's a new and improved model. You'd think they'd have figured out how to make the best after all these years."

"Rather fancy just for cleaning up, don't you think?"

She giggled and said, "Dear, they're not for cleaning, they're for flying. That Comet is the one Holyhead Harpies are using. Well, there's not many Quidditch matches right now but still, it's a fast flyer."

"I thought that was a myth, witches flying on brooms," he said.

Mary smiled at him. "Wizards too, you know. Quidditch is a flying sport. I was a chaser on the Hufflepuff team for a couple years at school. It's the most fun you can have."  
"What do you know," he said. "Never imagined. There's so much I must learn.  
You think I'll ever understand it all?"

"Hope not," she said brightly. "Gives me an advantage. I'll always be one step ahead of you."

"Oooo, a touch. I do confess it. I fear I breathe my last," he said with a laugh,  
holding his side.

"Goof," she said. "I do miss flying. These days you can imagine the problem it might cause. Far too many Muggle eyes on the sky and all that. Just think of a Spitfire pilot seeing a broom in the air." She gave him a smile then broke out in laughter.

"That would be an interesting situation," Rollins said, smiling at the image.

Mary settled from her laughter. "One of the ways this stinking war is making everyone miserable. Some days, when I'm feeling depressed, I imagine this all going away and us living in caves and tunnels with no future and no dreams, just waiting to starve to death. I want to make a difference in the world so I patrol beaches and pubs rather than play Quidditch like I used to."

Rollins pulled her close and kissed her gently. "I hope we never have our nightmares come real. Let's work on our dreams, keep them in our hearts and in our minds. We'll make them come true. It'll be hard and it'll be costly but it can happen."

She smiled at him. "That's one of the things I like about being with you. I feel better, like it's right to be cheerful. Now, it's getting on so we should be moving along."

"Uh, Mary, I heard you tell Captain Abbotson you were staying with your father,"  
Rollins said. "Where are we going to stay?"

"Don't get your hopes up, mister," she said, grinning. "We can get rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, wander around London tomorrow morning and catch the afternoon train back."

"Back under the Blitz," Rollins said dejectedly.

"There is another option," Mary said. "I can get us back to Swansea and we can go dancing tonight."

Rollins frowned. "That's not very likely. The train won't get us back before it's late."

"Remember that wart on my nose, my long nose?" she teased. "I can get us back in time for dinner and dancing if you're willing."

He frowned then his eyes went wide. "You mean you can, I don't know, pop us back?"

"My Home Guard unit, it's a special unit," she said. "Getting you out of the day room may cause some heads to turn but I asked permission before I left. In case of a raid or whatever. Let's call this whatever."

Rollins pursed his lips and said, "I'm willing as long as it doesn't cause you any problem. If it might I'd stay here, let you get back to safety and make my way back tomorrow."

"Of course you would, my gallant knight," she said, "but you forgot your white horse and I would rather be dancing than hiding in a Tube station."

"Consider me at your command, gracious princess," he said.

"Goof. Gallant though."

She led him back to The Leaky Cauldron and into a nondescript corner. There was little furniture and no patrons, only a large fireplace. It looked as ancient as the fashions he'd seen but there was nothing to show how they were going to travel.

"You won't mind a little soot on your lovely uniform, will you?" she asked.

He shrugged and said, "I'm out of my league at the moment. Tell me what I have to do."

"It will be terrible," she said with a grin. "You'll have to hold my hand. Now, do you need a full explanation or just want to hang on for the ride?"

"I'll hang on for the ride," he said. "Like everything else I've seen today, it'll be new and I won't be able to tell anyone about it."

Mary stepped into the fireplace and held out her hand, Rollins taking it while looking around. With a fistful of powder in her hand she said, "Swansea day room," and tossed the powder at their feet.

Rollins saw a flash of green, almost like flames, the world spun, a few confusing glimpses of other rooms and they stopped.

"Day room," she told him. "Keep hold of my hand."

She walked them away from the hearth, he felt something like a heavy curtain being drawn over his body and he was facing an ordinary door. They went through with a couple women glancing their way then startling a little as they gazed at him.

"That's this RAF man you've been talking about?" someone asked.

"Yes, and he's taken," she answered.

"Pity. He's cute," the woman said and got up. "I'll just have a look."

She peered out a window in both directions and waved them to a door. It was gray and misty outside but Rollins could see they were back in Swansea. It was hard to grasp what had happened but Mary was holding his hand and walking so it had to be alright.

Next thing he knew they were sauntering down a familiar oceanside sidewalk.  
"Mary, sweetheart, can you tell me what just happened?" he asked.

"As long as no one can hear," she said. "We connected The Leaky Cauldron to our day room so we could visit family. Also, it's an escape route in case it is needed,  
that is if someone bollixes things up and we have to leave in a hurry. The Floo Network is carefully monitored these days, like everything else, but it does provide a sense of comfort and security. The Ministry insisted if we were going to have a large concentration of us in one spot."

"So you can come and go whenever you please?" he asked.

"Of course not," she answered. "We still need a pass and recall information the same as the RAF does and it's not for frivolous use. That's a disciplinary offense as it could cause our captain a world of problems. Imagine if someone was supposed to be in bed instead of London or Scotland or wherever. Nobody breaks discipline, nobody floos without permission and a pass, nobody even thinks of making trouble for anyone else or it's closed down in a heartbeat. A real problem could lead to dismissal from the Guard and a hearing at the Ministry followed by getting locked up and no one wants that. It terrifies most of us just thinking about it. So we maintain discipline, keep our travel to a minimum and things stay rosy. It's all very tight."

"Captain Abbotson must be a witch then?" he asked.

"Of course. Thad is her husband. The cafe?" Mary said. "A lot of the girls are married, only a very few to Muggles like yourself. It's a special thing. If the MOD found out, well, the hail storm from that would escalate and we'd have to go into hiding for the duration and I suspect many of us wouldn't survive. We keep it tightly controlled."

"I can imagine," Rollins said.

"This is the world you are choosing, dear," she said. "Are you still up for it?"

He gently pulled her to him. "For you, always."

"I wish I could take you back to my room right this instant but alas. Discipline,  
dear," she told him with a grin.

Head cannon goes of. A sign fluttering to the ground says: Please Review.


End file.
